


Sleeping Beauty

by FlirtyFroggy



Category: Hornblower (TV), Sleeping Beauty – All Media Types
Genre: AU, Age of Sail, Fluffy Angst, M/M, UST, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtyFroggy/pseuds/FlirtyFroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly odd version of Sleeping Beauty based on Hornblower. Or a very odd version of Hornblower based on Sleeping Beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the prince falls asleep

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I decided that Sleeping Beauty with Archie as the princess and Horatio as the prince sounded like a good idea. The result is a mish-mash of The Even Chance, The Duchess and the Devil, the Disney and Perrault versions of the fairy tale, and some stuff that I just made up. In a modern setting. First posted to my LJ January 2010.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Once upon a time, a beautiful boy lived in a beautiful castle. He had been long looked-for, his parents fearing they would never have a child. At his christening his fairy godmothers gifted him generously, endowing him with beauty, wit, courage, and strength, but a wicked fairy also came and, jealous of the child, placed a curse on him so that he would die when he became a man. One of the good fairies tried to remove the curse but she could not remove it completely; she was only able to alter it. The boy would not die but sleep, until awakened by a handsome prince. That’s the short version…

Archie Kennedy had always been a happy boy. How could he not be? Doted on by his parents, adored by all, he had been raised in love and, blessed with charm, enjoyed a popularity among his peers. They didn’t mind his sharp tongue when it was accompanied by such a winning smile.

None of his peers loved him as much as his three best friends, however. Archie had known Hether, Cleveland and Clayton for only a few years, but he felt as though he had known them all his life. As indeed he had, if he had only known it. He had been safe as a young boy but as he left childhood behind and entered his teenage years, the threat of the curse placed on him had loomed large. His parents had tried hard to protect him, moving away from the city and all its inherent dangers and shielding him as best they could. His fairy godmothers, fearing this would not be enough to keep him safe, had taken human form and come to him in friendship when he and his parents arrived in their village. There had been a few issues when, true to their nature, they had initially taken form as girls. Cleveland had pointed out that even their magic wouldn’t keep people from wondering why Archie had his own personal harem in the village, and perhaps appearing as boys would make it easier for them to spend time with him. The others reluctantly agreed, though Hether in particular found it hard to let go, and continued to wear his hair long while maintaining a passion for flouncy shirts which caused much eyebrow-raising around the village. They stayed as close to Archie as they could; in fact, he was rarely left alone. He was always with either his parents or at least one of his friends. A gregarious soul, Archie didn’t mind too much, though as he got older he chafed at some of the restrictions placed on him, not knowing the reason for them. He was unlikely to be struck by lightning or abducted by aliens. And was it really any of Clayton’s business if Archie tied his laces properly or not?

If the people of the village ever thought it odd that three teenage boys had suddenly and inexplicably appeared in their midst, it was soon forgotten about. Occasionally someone would comment on the fact that their parents were conspicuous by their absence, or question why three boys were living together at all, but they were easily distracted by Hether asking a question about sheep or Cleveland pointing out a particularly interesting cloud, and by the time they came back to their original point, they had forgotten what the question had been. The thatched cottage that had appeared at the end of Justinian Lane near the house those nice Kennedys had moved into had been a little trickier, but a few well-placed observations from Clayton to the effect that ‘it was amazing how you don’t even notice these old wrecked buildings until someone does them up, do you?’ smoothed things over. Every now and again, a passer-by would stop and stare at the cottage for a moment, confusion wrinkling their forehead, but then their eyes would slide right over it and they would continue on their way.

Everything was fine for several years, and both Archie’s parents and his friends were beginning to think that they might be able to protect him after all; that the curse may never come to fruition and they had outwitted the wicked fairy. And then Archie turned seventeen and it all went horribly wrong.

*****

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But Mum…”

“I said no. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? I want to learn to drive, It’s not like I’m going sky diving.” Archie could see her repress a shudder at the thought of her precious son going sky diving. He loved her, he really did, but these days he was starting to feel so smothered he wanted to scream. He could see his mother wasn’t going to be moved and decided to change tack. “You’re being totally unfair!” 

“Yes, well, life isn’t fair, and the sooner you get used to that the better.” Ok, so maybe he needed a different angle.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. His mum was big on reason; everything was rational and ordered in her world, or at least it ought to be. “I don’t think I’m asking a lot. It’s not unusual, everybody my age does it. It’s weirder not too.” He was right and she knew it, he could tell. He pressed his advantage. “We live in the middle of nowhere, Mum. I need to get around. I could help you with the shopping,” he added, suddenly inspired.

His mother was no fool though and, seeing no way around his impeccable logic, apparently decided to change tack herself. “Do you know how much driving lessons cost these days? Not to mention buying a car and running it; petrol, insurance, maintenance. It all adds up.” Archie looked pointedly around the room at this, eyeing the state-of-the-art TV and the expensive furniture, the sheer size of the room indicating a big house and no lack of funds. It was a mistake. “Oh, you think your father and I are going to pay for it do you? Well, think again.”

“Fine!” Archie said, his temper getting the better of him again. “I’ll get a job.”

“You will not!” The argument screeched to a halt at this, possibly the first time in history a mother had ever ordered her layabout teenage son not to get a job. They both stood for a few moments, uncertain of what to do next. Then Archie turned on his heel and walked out.

“Archie Kennedy, get back here. Don’t you dare walk out that door.”

“What’s wrong? Worried I’m going to mysteriously vanish on the way to the village? Maybe there’s an axe murderer waiting for me in the post office.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but it was too late to take them back. He continued on his way, slamming the door behind him and leaving his mother to stare anxiously after him.

He stalked off down the street, angry with his mother, with himself, with the whole world. His dad hadn’t done anything to piss him off as yet, but he knew he’d agree with his mum and so he added him to the list of things to be angry about. He kicked viciously at every stone he came across, sending them skittering across the road and into hedges, but it did nothing to ease his frustration. He didn’t turn when he heard running footsteps behind him, just continued on his way.

“Archie!” The voice was Clayton’s. “Archie, wait!” He slowed down as he reached Archie and matched his stride. “You alright? I heard yelling.”

“I think the whole village heard yelling.”

“What happened?”

“Mum won’t let me learn to drive.” Archie aimed a particularly determined kick at a stone that turned out to be still attached to the ground. He winced and just about managed not to hop around on one foot.

“Oh,” Clayton said. “What do you need to learn to drive for?”

“What…?” Archie was flummoxed by this and found himself momentarily unable to come up with a single one of the many very good reasons. “Because I do. Because I need to get around.”

“Well, um, I can drive you.”

“You can’t drive.”

“Yes I can. Passed last week. Don’t you remember?”

“Um…”

“I passed my test last week. You remember that, Archie.”

The frown that had clouded Archie’s face cleared. “Yeah, of course I do. Great, you can drive me. No, wait. That’s not the point,” Archie said, getting heated again. “I don’t want to be taxied around by you, I want to drive myself. I want to be independent.”

“But Archie,” Clayton said, despair creeping round the edge of his voice. “It’s too dangerous. What if you had an accident?”

Archie stopped abruptly and turned to stare at his friend, incredulous. “And what if you had an accident? Why is it dangerous for me and not for you? It’s bad enough my parents treating me like a child without my mates joining in. I don’t want to hear it,” he added as Clayton made to interrupt him. “I’m sick of it. I’m going into the village, I’m going to get a job and I’m going to get driving lessons. And anyone who doesn’t like it can shove it up their arse.” He turned and stalked off down the road, for the second time in ten minutes leaving someone who loved him staring worriedly after him.

“Bugger,” Clayton said emphatically.

“It was bound to happen,” Hether said, appearing suddenly behind him. “Young boys don’t like to be kept on a tight rein. Or any sort of rein really. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to be honest.”

“What are we going to do?”

“It’ll be fine. We just need to stick close to him. We can avert major disasters so long as we stay fairly close.”

“I don’t like it. It’s too easy for him to shake us off if he’s in a car.”

“What do you want to do? Lock him up?”

Clayton looked like he was considering it. “No. I doubt we’d be able to. Anyway, I could never…” he trailed off as he looked at Hether for the first time. “What are you wearing?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s got flowers. And frills. And lace.”

“I like it.”

“You’re supposed to be a seventeen year old boy. Seventeen year old boys don’t dress like that. Seventeen year old girls don’t dress like that. Take it off. Not in the street,” he added as Hether made to lift the shirt over his head.

“Would it work better in pink?”

“Oh for God’s sake.”

Meanwhile, Archie’s temper was only getting worse. Not one single place in the village had any jobs going. Not even in the Lamb, and they always needed people. He was going to have to go home with his tail between his legs, something he was not looking forward to. Stomping round a corner, he was brought up short by the sight of a sweet shop. He was sure he had never seen it before, but there it was, right in front of him.  And even better, there was a ‘help wanted’ notice in the window. He looked at the sign above the door: ‘Purgatory Confectionary’. Archie had never heard a stranger name for a sweet shop in his life, but he was in no position to be looking gift horses in the mouth. He pushed the door open, the old-fashioned bell announcing his arrival to the shop’s occupants. Which were non-existent.

“Hello there.” The voice made him jump, and he whirled round, almost sending a stack of chocolate fudge flying as he did so. “It’s Archie isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Archie said, trying to re-stack the boxes. “How did you know that?”

“You come in here all the time,” the man said with a smile.

“I do?” Archie said, focussed on getting the boxes balanced right. “Yes, I do. Of course.”

“What can I do for you today Archie?”

“I’m looking for a job. You have a sign in the window.” The boxes seemed to be behaving themselves, so Archie left them and followed the man to the counter.

“Excellent. Looking for weekends or after school or something are you?”

“Oh, no. I’ve left school. After my GCSEs.” He’d decided, in an earlier fit of rebellion, not to do his A Levels. He’d had an idea he might move back to the city and get a job, or maybe do some travelling, or both. But somehow nothing ever came of it. One thing had come up or another, and he found himself always being persuaded to stay. And so he had done nothing. Just spent the time idling, waiting for something to happen. He’d never had a job. His parents always talked him out of it, said it was silly to waste his youth working if he didn’t need to. It occurred to him for the first time that they had wanted to discourage anything that would give him independence.

“You after something full-time then?”

“If you’ve got it, that would be great.”

“Perfect. I need all the help I can get around here.” Archie, looking around at the old creaking floorboards and shelves, the randomly piled boxes, the dust that covered every surface, and the inescapable lack of any customers, had a hard time believing this.

“Brilliant. When can I start?”

“Come by tomorrow at nine. We can start with you then.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry, I never introduced myself.” The man held out his hand. “Jack Simpson.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Archie said, shaking his hand. “Archie Kennedy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Archie. I look forward to working with you.”

Archie practically skipped back to the house. He had a job! And it had been so easy! He was in too good a mood even to be annoyed when Cleveland joined him when he was half-way home. The relentless quizzing went right over his head - where had he been, what was the job, who was Jack Simpson, was this really a good idea, what sort of name was Purgatory for a sweet shop, what did he want to be independent for anyway? All were answered happily and cheerfully, with none of the sullenness that had accompanied most of his conversations with his friends lately.

This would be good for him, he thought. A chance to meet new people. Well, one new person anyway. Hether and Clayton and Cleveland were good mates, the best, but they were very definitely… a group. A trio. There were times when Archie felt very much outside of them. There were times when he didn’t understand them at all. He had never really made friends at school. Plenty of acquaintances, yes -  he was very popular, and he had always had a talent for making people like him. But every time it seemed like an acquaintance was going to turn into a real friend something happened and it didn’t. Nothing dramatic, it just didn’t work out. He’d always had Hether and Clayton and Cleveland and so he’d never really minded, hardly even noticed. But sometimes… Archie had to admit to himself that, although he was rarely alone, he was sometimes, increasingly often, really quite lonely. So yes. This would be good for him.

*****

Archie straightened up with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He had spent the afternoon moving boxes from one side of the stockroom to the other; he ached all over. There was no real reason to move the boxes, but Jack had told him to move them, so move them he did. When Archie had asked him why, he had simply smiled and said he wanted to create some space against the wall. Archie didn’t want to know what the space was for, but a sick certainty in the pit of his stomach told him he would find out.

A glance at his watch said he wouldn’t find out today though. It was time to shut up shop and Jack hadn’t returned from wherever he had disappeared to earlier, most likely the pub. Archie hastily closed down the till (never an arduous task) and tidied the shop (ditto), anxious to be away before Jack realised how late it was and came back. He hurried out of the door and pulled it shut behind him, locking it quickly and hastening down the street. Every step took him closer to home, but he could not relax until he was out of the village proper, until he knew he would not hear that imperious call of ‘Kennedy!’ behind his retreating back which told him he had not been quick enough.

He was in luck tonight. The tension eased slightly from his shoulders as his friends’ cottage came in sight. Should he go straight home or call in there first? Both options had their drawbacks, but at least at the cottage he wouldn’t have to spend the evening avoiding his mother’s anxious gaze. He turned in at the cottage gate, cheered a little by the sounds of light-hearted argument he could already hear from behind the door.

He had been working in the sweet shop for months now. He kept meaning to quit but never did. He would walk up to Jack full of determination, but when confronted with him he would find that the words wouldn’t come, or he’d forget what he wanted and carry on working, only to remember later, in the middle of the night. Many was the morning he had woken up and decided he just wasn’t going to go to work, and then found himself standing in the shop, with Jack smiling and welcoming him as if he were his friend. He had stopped trying now. There was no point; he would never escape. It was just him and Jack and he would never be free of him.

His parents were worried about him, and so were is friends. But what could he do? Even if he could tell them, he wouldn’t. How do you tell your mother something like that? And so he continued on, going through the motions each day. He saw his parents at breakfast, talked about his plans for the day, smiled as best he knew how. He didn’t look them in the eye. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how to talk to his friends any more. They had little in common to begin with, though that had never seemed to matter before. Now, he would sit for hours in the evening, saying nothing, enjoying their banter and teasing but never a part of it. He felt better around them; safer, though nothing would ever make him feel truly safe again. He knew that from the bottom of his soul. Sometimes Archie would fall asleep in front of the fire, and it was a blessed relief, for a time, right up until the moment he woke up screaming. Then Clayton would hold him like a child, soothing him, telling him it would be alright, while Hether and Cleveland looked on anxiously.

  
Clayton watched Archie as he sat by the fire, despair washing over him as it did a hundred times a day. They had not expected this. They had worked so hard to protect him, all his life. They had clung to the knowledge that the curse wouldn’t kill Archie, that Clayton’s quick thinking had prevented at least that. And yet still they had lived in fear, dreading the day he fell and split his skull, or got into a fight, or a random flowerpot landed on his head. Coma, concussion, unconsciousness. All these they had been prepared for and guarded against as much as they could. There had been some concern about narcolepsy, about which they could do nothing, and Archie’s mother had once become nearly hysterical after reading a magazine article about a woman whose husband, to the bafflement of doctors the world over, slept for 18 hours a day and was only partially awake for the other six. But this. They had not seen this coming; this shutting-down, this switching-off. Their bright, cheerful boy had withdrawn inside himself, and they never saw him any more. The endless chatter had been replaced by silence, and the sparkle in his eyes by a dull sheen. Archie sleep-walked through life.

They had been suspicious about Jack Simpson from the start. He had appeared from no-where and taken Archie to him so quickly, and Archie hadn’t questioned it. But they couldn’t be sure. He was slippery, and so convincing. Even Clayton had found himself believing the sweet shop had been there all along before he got a grip on himself. And then one day, one ordinary, slightly misty day, Clayton had been doing the washing up when something had made him look out of the window. Jack Simpson was standing on the road outside, watching the cottage. Not with the frown that most people wore when they studied the building for too long, followed by a sudden shift in focus and a rueful shake of the head, but with a clear, knowing smile. And Clayton had known then. With a deep-seated, irrefutable conviction, he had known. Despite their best efforts, he had out-witted them; the wicked fairy walked among them, unhindered. Clayton had watched as Simpson’s smile changed, shifted sideways until it was a definite smirk. Then he had raised his hand and waved to him, before turning and walking down the road, whistling, hands in his pockets; not a care in the world.

 

 


	2. In which the prince meets his, er, prince.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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The day Jack Simpson left the village, Archie could have wept with relief. Unbelievable though it was to anyone who had ever set foot in the rundown old sweet shop, it was actually part of a chain, most of which was a lot more impressive than this back-water branch. Even more unbelievably, Jack Simpson had been offered a promotion to one of these lovely, previously unheard of, branches.

If Hether, Clayton and Cleveland seemed less surprised by all this than other people, Archie didn’t notice, though they did seem to be a lot more tired than usual. When asked, they just said they had had a lot of late nights recently and changed the subject and Archie was too distracted by thoughts of his impending freedom to notice, for which Clayton was grateful. Archie was no fool, and it had always been more difficult to derail his thoughts than those of other people in the village; Clayton didn’t think he had the energy at the moment.

Jack’s impending departure (which Jack didn’t seem at all pleased about despite the promotion, pay rise, and, inexplicably, company car) seemed to loosen whatever strange hold Jack had over Archie, and Archie found that he was able to call in sick every day until the day Jack left.

His first Jack-free day, Archie all but danced into work. The regional manager was sending someone to help run the place but until he arrived Archie had been left in charge. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so free, so happy. He grinned cheerily at everyone he met, much to their delight; the whole village had been dismayed by the change in him. He winked at the butcher’s daughter, causing her to blush and giggle, and sailed happily down the road and straight into the sweet shop. Where he came to an abrupt halt. Cold fear clamped around his heart, spreading through his chest and across his shoulders. There were memories here. Too many memories, and the ghost of Jack besides. How could he work here, when every corner felt saturated with terror and humiliation? He couldn’t work here, he couldn’t.

He could, he decided. He would. Jack was gone; it was bad enough he had controlled him while was here; Archie wouldn’t let him control him while he wasn’t. He would work hard, and he would earn his money, and some freedom and pride.

Archie tried, he really did. Often he succeeded. But other times he didn’t. Alone in the shop, with nothing but memories to keep him company, Jack tormented him still. Shame gnawed at him, and fear, on and on, until he didn’t know if he was ashamed of the fear or afraid of the shame, and eventually it didn’t matter anyway because it was all just one great cloud of crippling despair that Archie couldn’t see a way out of. After a while, his friends started coming down to the shop with him; helping out when it was busy (not very often), keeping him company when it wasn’t. It helped a little; the cloud didn’t go away but it did disperse a little.

*****

The rain was pouring down the day Horatio Hornblower arrived in the village. He struggled through the downpour to reach the shop, arriving only a few minutes late; he had had to stop and ask for directions, despite the fact the village only really had two streets. By the time he reached his destination he was soaked to the skin, freezing cold and still feeling slightly nauseous from the bus journey through the winding country lanes.

Archie, who had been watching out for him, opened the door to find himself confronted by a tall, lanky bedraggled creature whose dark hair was plastered to pale skin that had turned a deathly white where it wasn’t green. He was the most beautiful thing Archie had ever seen. Archie felt a grin spread across his face, muscles almost aching at the by now unfamiliar movement. He held out his hand, half in greeting and half in an offer of assistance. The grin got bigger as Horatio grasped his hand in return and Archie pulled him  in out of the rain. “Keane said you’d be coming today. Welcome to Purgatory.”

“Thank you. Horatio Hornblower.”

“Archie Kennedy. Come in, come in. God, you’re soaked through.” Archie kept up a steady stream of chatter as he guided Horatio through the shop and into the back room. “Sit by the fire for a bit and warm up and then I’ll show you ‘round the shop, though you’ve seen most of it already.” Horatio seemed a little bewildered, which Archie chose to interpret as his reaction to the numbing cold rather than his reaction to Archie. He placidly allowed Archie to remove his coat and push him gently into a chair. “Sit there and I’ll find a towel for you,” Archie said, restraining himself from running his hand across Horatio’s shoulders, though the way his wet shirt clung to him made that very difficult. He rummaged through the cupboard, certain there was a clean towel in there somewhere. “Ah ha!” he said, triumphant. “This should help. At least dry your hair off, stop it dripping down your neck.” Archie was sure he had said more in the last six minutes than he had in the last six months, most of it nonsensical. He passed the towel to Horatio, brushing against his hand as he did so. “God, your hands are freezing.” Seemingly of its own volition, his hand reached out again to Horatio’s, stopping only when it rested on the ice-cold skin. Horatio raised his head at the unexpected contact, his face only inches from Archie’s. Looking into warm brown eyes, Archie found himself rendered speechless.

“Thank you,” Horatio said softly. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Horatio shifted and raised the towel to his hair, covering his face as he did so. Archie found his voice again.

“I’ll, um, put the kettle on then,” he said, too brightly. He mentally kicked himself. Weren’t men supposed to turn into their fathers not their mothers?

“That sounds great,” Horatio’s muffled response came from beneath the towel, making Archie feel slightly less of an idiot as he filled the kettle and flicked the switch.

“Coffee or tea?” he asked over his shoulder as he pulled mugs out of the little cupboard over the sink.

“Coffee’s fine.” Horatio’s voice no longer sounded muffled. Archie poured water into two mugs, watching as the granules turned to mud and then into something that might be called coffee if you were feeling charitable.

“How do you take it?”

“Black, no sugar.”

“Okie dokie.” Archie kicked himself again. That was the trouble with spending so much time with Hether and Cleveland; he’d obviously forgotten how to talk to normal people. He really needed to get out more and meet new people. Then he remembered what had happened the last time he tried that and a chill settled over him. He shook the feeling off, reminding himself of the warmth he had felt when he touched Horatio’s hand, despite the iciness of his skin. “You might regret saying that once you’ve actually tasted this stuff,” he said, adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to his own mug. “It’s resemblance to coffee is fleeting at best.”

Horatio huffed a laugh at that, and Archie couldn’t help smiling at having amused him, however slightly. “As long as it’s hot, I don’t care if it tastes like dishwater,” Horatio said.

“Ah, well then,” Archie said, picking up the two mugs. “You’re in luck, ‘cause that’s exactly what it tastes like.” Archie turned back towards Horatio and nearly dropped the coffees he was holding. Horatio was standing with his back to Archie, towel slung around his neck, holding the shirt he was no longer wearing in front of the fire. Horatio glanced over his shoulder and smiled shyly. On anyone else the move would have looked playful, teasing even. Coy. But Archie was utterly convinced Horatio had absolutely no idea of the image he presented.

“Sorry, hope you don’t mind,” Horatio said, indicating the shirt in his hands.

“No,” Archie said, a little more high pitched than he would have liked. “No,” he said again, more normally this time. “That’s fine.” Horatio smiled again and Archie put the mugs down on the table with a heavy thud. He sat down absently, watching the movement of muscles across Horatio’s back as he retrieved the chair he had been sitting on and arranged his shirt across the back of it to dry. He had seen more developed bodies, his own for a start, but Horatio’s was not to be sniffed at. He was lithe, wiry, toned. Half-naked. His skin was so pale he looked like marble; living, moving, soft, touchable marble. Archie took a hasty mouthful of coffee, ignoring the burn in his throat and resolving to think no more about touching.

Horatio joined him at the table, picking up his coffee and sitting down slowly in his still-wet jeans. His hair still clung to him, but Archie could see it was drying in curls here and there. He determinedly  looked no lower than Horatio’s neck, not that the view above it was any less distracting. Horatio took a sip of his coffee and grimaced down at his legs. “Not a lot I can do about the jeans, unless I strip off completely,” he said, causing Archie to inhale coffee through his nose. “Suppose I’ll just have to be uncomfortable”.

Archie had a few suggestions as to what Horatio could do with his jeans but decided to keep them to himself.

*****

Hether hummed happily to himself as he dusted the sideboard. While Archie didn’t seem to be reviving from his somnolence as quickly as they would have liked, he felt they had definite grounds for optimism. He had smiled more since Horatio’s arrival than they had seen for months. True, that smile was more fleeting than it had been, and less brilliant, but it was there, which was a definite improvement. And yes, Archie still didn’t meet anyone’s eye, and he was still having nightmares, and sometimes still he would stare unseeingly into the fire for a long, long time and you had to call his name several times before he heard you, and that was cause for concern. But then Horatio would come round and he would brighten up and Archie, the old Archie, would be there again. He knew Clayton was worried; he thought that it wasn’t so much a case of Archie waking up as Archie pretending to wake up. He believed that the real Archie was still buried, still withdrawn, and that he had just got better at hiding his pain, maybe even from himself. He believed Archie would not truly be himself again until he no longer lived in fear of Jack Simpson.

Hether didn’t believe it, and nor did Cleveland. The curse said Archie would be woken by a handsome prince and, lo and behold, here was a handsome prince. A handsome prince who, a blind man could see, absolutely adored Archie, and Archie him. It would just take time, that was all.

Hether was lovingly smoothing the dust off a china duck when Clayton and Cleveland walked in. “What are you looking so happy about?” Clayton asked, collapsing into the nearest chair while Cleveland sprawled in his usual spot on the sofa. Hether told him. Clayton sighed. “Do you think it’s that easy? Really? After everything that’s happened haven’t you learned anything?”

“But… but… true love’s kiss and all that,” Cleveland said.

“And what do you think it’s going to take for Archie to kiss Horatio?”

“Shouldn’t Horatio kiss Archie?” Hether asked.

Clayton raised his eyebrows at this. “Horatio? Seriously?”

“For such a bright boy, he is fairly dense,” Cleveland said. “I’d be surprised if he knows what kissing is.” Hether nodded ruefully in agreement.

“Exactly,” Clayton said. “So, what do you think it’s going to take to get Archie to kiss Horatio?”

“A couple of beers and some privacy?” Cleveland said. Hether sniggered. Clayton glared at them both.

“Don’t be idiotic. Do you really think Archie’s going to trust anyone when -” he broke off at the sound of the front door opening. Voices could be heard out in the hall. Moments later Archie and Horatio appeared in the room.

“Can’t stop long,” Archie said “Mum’s making dinner for us and I’m under strict instructions not to be late again.” His eyes had something of their old gleam about them; Cleveland and Hether looked meaningfully at Clayton, who ignored them. “I’ve lost my wallet, did I leave it here?”

Several minutes searching revealed the errant wallet had found it’s way under one of the sofa cushions. Having retrieved it, Archie and Horatio were waved off by others, who all, even Clayton, were immensely cheered to see Horatio sling a companionable arm around Archie’s shoulders as they left.

“You see,” Hether said smugly.

“I’m not saying Horatio won’t wake him, I’m just saying -” Clayton was once again interrupted by the front door. “Archie, what did you forget now?”

“How now, my fellow godmothers. Or should that be godbrothers?” Jack Simpson stood before them, filling the doorway. He seemed to fill the whole house, his presence seeping into every nook and cranny and sucking all the joy out of it. A slow smile spread across Jack’s face. “Did you really think you could get rid of me? That your puny magics were enough to keep me away? Or did you just hope to keep me away long enough for that pretty little thing you somehow conjured up to do his work?” The smile fell from Jack’s face with a snap. “Well it won’t work. You think he would want Archie, even if you could give him to him? There’s only one rule. Render unto Caesar. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which of us is Caesar, and which is to do the rendering.” With that, he smiled another of his ghastly smiles and left.

*****

“The Caribbean? Really?” Archie said as he and Horatio unpacked the latest shipment of bonbons the next morning.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised. You don’t seem the lounging around on the beach doing nothing type. Why the Caribbean?”

Horatio shrugged. “Don’t know. I would just very much like to see it. What about you? Where would you go, if you could?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. I want to see the world, but I’ve barely left this village.”

“You have to pick one.”

“Ok. The Caribbean for me too I suppose.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. I would just very much like to see it.” Archie laughed and ducked as Horatio threw a packet of sweets at him. “What, you can give crap answers but I can’t?”

“We’ll go one day,” Horatio said decidedly.

“I think it’s going to take more than a bit of overtime to get you to the Caribbean, Horatio. And I can’t see my parents paying for me to go any time soon either.”

“No,” Horatio said. “I mean, we’ll go. Together.” Archie looked up, suddenly very aware of how close Horatio was. His face was only inches away as they both leaned over the box full of sweets between them.

“Us? Together?” Archie said, leaning infinitesimally closer.

“Yes. Friends go on holiday together all the time don’t they?”

Archie was mesmerized by the way Horatio’s lips moved when he spoke. It took him a long moment to gather his thoughts well enough to respond. “Friends. Yes. Friends go on holiday together. So I’ve heard.” Archie watched as Horatio’s lips parted slightly. It would be so easy, Archie thought. So easy. Would they still be friends then? Would they still talk and laugh and sit in comfortable silence if he leaned in now? If he covered Horatio’s mouth with his own? If he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Horatio’s and ran his hands through his hair? Archie thought they might.

And what about Jack? The thought brought Archie up short and he pulled back slightly. If Horatio knew about Jack, would he still be looking at Archie the way he was now? Would he be leaning in, advancing as Archie retreated? Panic shot through Archie. He couldn’t do this. A kiss was fine but what if it went further? Horatio would know, then. Somehow he would know and Archie couldn’t bear it. He could cope with his parents knowing and his friends, but he knew he couldn’t stand for Horatio to look at him with the same mixture of pity and disgust that they did.

All this went through Archie’s mind at lightning speed. His thoughts fell over one another in a chaotic tumble that made the voice that next cut the air make him wonder if any of it was real at all or simply some bizarre nightmare.

“Hello, Archie. Jack’s missed you boy.”

Archie and Horatio sprang apart, Horatio stumbling slightly as he moved away from Archie. They both turned to stare at the newcomer - Horatio in puzzlement, Archie in utter horror.

“And who is this, Archie? A new arrival to our august establishment?”

Archie was speechless, a thousand nameless horrors crowding into his mind. Horatio glanced worriedly at him before stepping forward.

“Horatio Hornblower. Pleased to meet you.”

“Indeed. Jack Simpson. You’re the one Keane sent are you? Well, you’re not needed now. I’m back, so you can go.”

Horatio moved to obey the command, then stopped. “Sorry, but I haven’t been told to leave. I’ll stay until management tells me otherwise.” Jack took a step backwards at this unprecedented example of someone resisting his influence.

Archie, who felt as though he was watching the proceedings from a great distance, found his voice at Horatio’s defiance. “I wasn’t expecting you back. Why are you back?”

Jack, recovering himself, smiled. “There’s been some re-arrangement higher up. Pellew is now in charge and sent me back here.”

Archie simply stared at Jack, the sight of that too-familiar smirk making him nauseous. This was it. The beginning of the end. This was what he got for starting to believe he could ever be rid of Jack, for daring to even consider the possibility that he might be worthy or deserving of Horatio’s friendship. It would now only be a matter of time before Horatio found out the truth. And when he did, he would run from Archie and not look back. And Archie would be alone again. Alone with Jack.

 

 


	3. In which the prince is hidden.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Archie stared unseeingly out at the setting sun. The vista before him was one that he might once have considered dramatically, if dustily, beautiful, but he no longer cared about such things. On good days, like today, he would struggle out of his bed in the mid-afternoon and sit out on the veranda. But good days were rare and he often didn’t leave the villa at all. Often he didn’t even leave his bed. He slept a lot. He seemed unnaturally tired and sleep was preferable to waking, despite the nightmares. Nightmares could be dismissed as just that, but his waking thoughts were not so easily disregarded.

When he had first arrived, he had out of necessity gone into the nearby village for supplies, his basic Spanish just enough to get by. But one of the women in the village, Catalina, had taken pity on ‘the poor, sick English boy’ and begun taking food up the hill to him. Other people in the village, he knew, considered him not so much sick as crazy. They were probably right. For the most part she brought the food and left him to his own devices. Some days she would arrive with bread and soup and tell him he had spent the previous day, or two days, or three, staring unresponsively at the wall.

He did not know how long he had been here. Weeks. Months. He had seen his opportunity when Simpson had been called away to a conference for the weekend. He had woken on the Saturday morning knowing that this was his last chance. There would be no other opportunity to escape the very different threats of Jack and Horatio. So he had got up, packed a bag, written a note for his parents, one for Horatio and one for his friends, and left. He withdrew all his savings and made his way to Dover in something of a daze. His first ever view of the sea was not the exciting event it should have been. He had travelled across the Channel and through France, somehow ending up in southern Spain where he decided on a whim to stop.

He had dreamed in the past of travelling through France and Spain, and then on further; across Europe and around the world. In his dreams, it had been an adventure. Striking out on his own, discovering the world. Later, he had dreamed of travelling with Horatio. Dull periods in the shop or during the few hours of the days when the two boys were not together had been filled with sunshine, beaches and sightseeing. Now he tried not to think about Horatio at all.

Horatio would not have run away; Horatio was not a coward. He had felt guilty at first about leaving him alone with Jack, until he realised that Horatio would never allow Jack to use him the way he had used Archie. So now he kept Horatio out of his thoughts. His friends, too. It was no good wishing for Clayton’s wise advice, or Hether &amp; Cleveland’s daft comments. They weren’t here. He definitely didn’t think about his parents. Except sometimes the dam holding the thoughts back would break and everything behind it would come crashing through his mind. The dam was breaking more and more often and Archie did not know how long he would be able to keep patching it up.

He heard a noise behind him but did not stir. It would be one of his dreams again. They came to him more and more often, even when he was awake. The fractured, broken dreams, full of half-glimpsed images and vague fears; the clearer, vivid dreams that were the same moment repeated over and over and over again — Jack walking into the room and shutting the door behind him, that hideous smirk stretched across his face; the dreams he dreaded most, the ones of him and Horatio, all the more terrible for the fact that eventually they would end and reality would shatter him once again.

The noise came again, this time accompanied by a voice, and Archie closed his eyes in despair and willed the voice away. But the voice would not go away; instead it grew more insistent, calling his name. There was a hand on his arm, on his cheek, stroking the hair back from his face. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to look at the face before him. He would not allow these dreams to torment him any further.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking as he looked at Horatio’s horrified face. “Go away. Go away.”

*****

Shivers wracked his body until he thought his bones would shatter. His skin was on fire, he was sure of it. He heard voices in the distance and wondered why they didn’t come to help him. He tried to cry out but the words burned in his throat and died. One of the voices must have heard him because it suddenly came much closer. He couldn’t understand it though. Why wouldn’t it speak so he could understand it? And why did it still sound so far away? Why was he here all alone? Why wouldn’t anyone help him?

*****

The room was far too warm. Why did his mother insist on having the heating so high? He tried kicking the covers off and found they were tight around him. He panicked for a moment, until a soothing hand brushed his forehead and a familiar voice told him he was alright. He did not know how he knew the voice, but he trusted it and believed it when it said he was safe. He felt a glass pressed to his lips and he drank when the voice told him to. The voice told him to sleep. So he did.

  
*****

“You’re going to drink. You’re going to eat. And you’re going to get better.” It was difficult to resist such a command but Archie tried. He had reached a decision: all he wanted was to go to sleep and not wake up again. Being asleep was much easier than being awake; the Horatio there was definitely a dream, whereas this Horatio was far too real. There was no danger from dream-Horatio; even when he found out the truth about Archie, he always came back again. This Horatio who had invaded his sanctuary, if you could call it that, held no such certainties. The desire to give in to Horatio and accept his presence was strong, but Archie had left for a reason and he was not about to go back on it now.

And yet… Life had been so much easier, so much better, with Horatio. Even now, the feel of his rough hands against his face was a comfort. His presence beside him, just knowing that Horatio was here, had searched for him, left Archie lost for words. Why he had done it, Archie couldn’t even begin to fathom. But the fact was he had, and he was here, and he was speaking to Archie with such urgency that Archie could almost dare to think that perhaps, maybe, there was a chance for hope. He reached out a shaking hand and grasped the cup Horatio held to his lips. It was messy and sloppy, and more water probably ended up down his front than in his mouth, but the cool liquid felt good to his parched throat. Horatio’s hand, wrapped around the cup with Archie’s own, felt even better.

*****

“How are you feeling?” Archie, just waking, barely had time to blink against the lamplight filling the room before Horatio was beside him, pressing a concerned hand to his face.

“Not too bad,” Archie croaked. He didn’t want to tell Horatio he actually felt like he’d been run over by a bus. Horatio’s smile suggested he didn’t really believe him, but Archie could live with that. He gratefully accepted the cup of water Horatio passed him. A sharp smell of oranges suddenly filled the air.

“You should eat something,” Horatio said, holding a piece of orange to Archie’s lips. Archie pulled his head back.

“I can eat a piece of orange by myself. I don’t need to be fed,” he snapped. Horatio nodded sheepishly.

“Of course. I’m sorry.” He handed the fruit to Archie who chewed slowly on one piece and then another. It took him five minutes and completely exhausted him. Just the effort of lifting his hand to his mouth was harder than he could ever have imagined. He had to admit defeat. “It’s alright, Archie,” Horatio said when he reluctantly said it was too much for him. “You’ve really been very ill. You ought to be in hospital.” Archie glared at him. They had already had this argument. He was not leaving this house and that was an end of it. Horatio held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I know, I know,” he said. “I promise I won’t even mention it again.” He fed Archie the rest of the orange, breaking the segments up and gently pushing each piece into his mouth. Occasionally the juice would run down his chin and Horatio would wipe it away, his fingers sweeping lightly across Archie’s skin, brushing his lips. Every single aspect of the procedure made Archie want to scream.

Finally his ordeal was over and Archie sank back against his pillows, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. “Get some rest, Archie,” Horatio said with a worried smile. “You need it.” Archie wanted to say something cutting about being told what to do, especially when it was something he had already planned on doing, but sleep was pulling him under and he couldn’t find the words.

*****

Archie sipped carefully at the soup Horatio had brought him, wary of burning his tongue. He was sitting up in bed now and had even allowed Horatio to open the curtains. He had blinked a little at the unaccustomed light but had to admit it was better. He might even give in to Horatio’s pleas and have the window open later. Just a crack. Let some air in. A thought occurred to him and he looked suspiciously around the room. “Did you clean up in here?” he asked Horatio, who had just walked in with a sandwich in his hand.

“Of course I did. With Catalina’s help,” he said, swallowing a mouthful of bread and sitting on the chair which had taken up permanent residence by Archie’s bed. “You didn’t think I was going to let you continue on in that squalor, did you? I cleaned up weeks ago.”

“I don’t remember you doing it.”

“I shouldn‘t think you would. You were unconscious.”

“Oh.” Another thought occurred to him. “Weeks? You’ve been here for weeks?”

Horatio nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich while he thought about it. “It’s been, let me see, six, nearly seven weeks since I got here.”

Archie spooned soup mechanically into his mouth as he considered this. Seven weeks. That was a long time to sit by the bed of someone who wasn’t even sure if you were really there or not. His head swam. He had been touched that Horatio had come looking for him but had thought that he had come mostly at the request of his parents. Yet when he got there he hadn’t summoned them to him or packed him off to hospital for someone else to deal with. Archie knew he himself had refused to go to hospital, could remember the argument about it, though it was a little vague around the edges, but he had been in no state to resist if Horatio had really insisted. But he hadn’t. He had cared for him himself. Archie couldn’t get his head around it. “It doesn’t seem like that long,” was all he could find to say, finishing his soup and putting the bowl to one side.

“You were asleep for a lot of it,” Horatio said with a smile. He leaned forward, casting his half-eaten sandwich aside. Archie looked at it longingly; his appetite was returning and he was absolutely ravenous. All thoughts of sandwiches were cast out of his mind, however, when Horatio grasped his hand. “Don’t you know how ill you were, Archie? I had to ask Catalina to call a doctor out, even though you’d begged me not to. I thought you were going to — I sat here for hours wondering if I was doing the right thing, if I shouldn’t take you to the hospital. You were so —” His voice broke and he stopped, much to Archie’s relief. He didn’t recognise this Horatio and didn’t know how to react to him. Archie looked down at Horatio’s hands gripping his own and thought he might cry. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. Horatio seemed to be struggling to do the same. His eyes were desperate and his hands tightened around Archie’s until it was almost painful. He looked at Archie for a long time and Archie waited with mounting dread and hope at what he might say. Then he smiled slightly and stood up, slowly pulling his hands away. When he spoke, his voice was almost normal. “Get some sleep, Archie.” He turned and left the room, Archie staring after him.

Archie closed his eyes momentarily and rested his head against the headboard. He took several deep breaths and then picked up the remains of Horatio’s sandwich trying not to eat too quickly and make himself sick. He watched the dust motes dance slowly around the room, visible now in the shaft of light that fell through the window. Their journey led his eye to the chair by his bed and he stared at it, wondering just how long Horatio had sat there, and if he had held his hand the whole time.

 

 


	4. In which the prince has a mental breakdown. (What? That happens in every fairytale.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is not possible to write an Archie fic without there being an angsty bit. This is that bit.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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It was mid-afternoon, and any sensible person would have been finishing up a nice siesta but, like many Englishmen in hot countries, Archie couldn’t bear to waste the sunshine. He couldn’t get used to the idea that it wasn’t suddenly going to disappear in a flurry of cloud and rain. Besides, Archie had spent more than enough time asleep indoors recently. His afternoons these days were spent out in the garden, reading a book in the shade of an old pergola which was overgrown with roses and reminded him of one of Hether’s shirts. Horatio, who had had considerably less sleep than Archie of late, had taken to the whole siesta concept like a duck to water and happily spent the hottest part of the day snoozing in his room.

It had taken Archie a while to reach this point. He had felt safe in the villa even as he had felt trapped. Illogical though it was, he couldn’t shake the idea that the house was somehow protecting him, that if he stepped outside its walls then Jack would somehow know where he was and reappear to destroy everything all over again. Even when Horatio had explained that Jack wouldn’t be bothering them, or anyone else, ever again, Archie had been reluctant. Was Horatio sure? Was Jack really dead? Had Pellew really run him over or was it some sort of trick or mistake? Had Horatio really seen it with his own eyes? Even if he was dead, what did it matter? What did he need to go outside  for anyway? He was fine here with Horatio.

Slowly, Horatio had encouraged him to go out. Sitting by the open window, feeling the warm breeze on his face, had been fine. Enjoyable, even. Going out onto the veranda had been a bigger step but, after several false starts he had sat outside for five minutes then ten, then thirty. He had moved gradually into the unkempt garden, supporting himself on Horatio’s arm when needed, and now spent much of his time there, planning what he would do with it once he had the strength to do some serious weeding. He had yet to venture beyond the confines of the garden but he would do so soon.

The shadows of the trees told him it was time Horatio was up and about so he put down his book and stood up slowly. He was still a little unsteady on his feet and it took a while for his legs to obey his brain’s instructions after he had been immobile for a few hours. Getting out of bed was the worst. He headed towards Horatio’s room, detouring via the kitchen for a couple of cold glasses of orange juice. Horatio wasn’t in his room and Archie felt a brief moment of panic before he got a grip and told himself not to be so stupid. Horatio wasn’t just going to disappear into thin air; obviously he was already awake and was somewhere else in the house.

Archie found him on the veranda, shirtless and barefoot, leaning over the balustrade and looking out at the view. He turned and smiled at Archie’s approach, and Archie was reminded forcefully of their first meeting when Horatio had stunned him to his core by the simple act of drying out his shirt. “Thank you,” Horatio said, accepting the glass Archie offered him. His eyes were still a little heavy with sleep and his rumpled hair, normally so neat and well cared for but now in desperate need of a cut, fluttered in the light breeze. Even with the time they had spent together, Archie couldn’t get used to seeing him like this. He wondered if he ever would.

Afraid of doing something stupid like lunging at him or crying like a girl, Archie turned away and went to sit in one of the chairs. Horatio came to join him and they sat for some time, enjoying the warm afternoon and each other’s company.

A sound on the path made him turn. It was Catalina coming round the side of the house. She smiled and waved at them, and Archie could not miss the smile Horatio gave her in return. He waved somewhat glumly and greeted her in his gradually improving Spanish.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said in English, her language skills much better than his. She indicated the basket she carried, which was full of fruit.

“You shouldn’t have,” Horatio said, his Spanish already much better than Archie’s, despite never having studied it before coming here. Probably from all the late nights with Catalina while Archie was delirious. “There was really no need.” There really wasn’t. Archie no longer required her help and Horatio could go to the village for whatever they needed. And yet here she was, on what seemed to him an almost daily basis, popping in to see how they were and to have a chat. She was a nice woman, and Archie was very grateful to her, but he couldn’t help wishing she would just go away.

She came up the veranda steps and offered the basket to Horatio. He invited her to sit down and she did so, eyeing his torso as she stepped past him. Horatio’s overdeveloped sense of propriety caused him to blush and he excused himself and hurried inside. Archie shook his head. Catalina picked a plum from the basket and handed it to him. “I admit, I brought these mostly for you,” she said. “Men do not know how to look after themselves, especially young men. Young men who have been ill are the worst.” She smiled at him and he could not help smiling back. It was almost impossible not to like her, even when she was mothering him to the point of madness.

Horatio reappeared, now clad in a t-shirt, and the three of them sat together and shared the bounty Catalina had brought, laughing and fending off the wasps who tried to share it with them. At least, Horatio and Catalina laughed; Archie did most of the wasp-fending. After a couple of hours Catalina, having reassured herself that they weren’t starving to death, stood to leave. “Are you sure you are both alright? Living in a foreign country and it’s so isolated up here, just the two of you. Aren’t you sick of each other’s company?” Archie glanced at Horatio but Horatio was looking at Catalina.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of Archie’s company,” Horatio said. Archie froze in the act of lifting his glass to his lips. Horatio’s face was perfectly clear and untroubled, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary. As indeed he hadn’t. Only Archie’s racing mind could wonder about so innocent a statement.

“Horatio spends so much time asleep, I don’t actually see him that much,” Archie said, saying the first thing that came to mind as he struggled to get his thoughts in order.

Catalina looked between them in bemusement, then shook her head and smiled. She said something in rapid Spanish under her breath that Archie couldn’t quite catch. He thought might have been along the lines of ‘Oh for God’s sake’. She said her goodbyes and left them. Archie concentrated on clearing the table, before it became completely lost under all the wasps. He did not look at Horatio but was very aware of being watched by him.

He carried the plates and glasses into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. He was about to turn the tap on when Horatio’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Is everything alright, Archie?”

“Everything’s fine, Horatio. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem yourself.”

“Myself? And what exactly would ‘myself’ be like? Tell me, I’m dying to know. What’s so special about myself that you would care so much about me staying that way?" Archie said, startling himself as much as Horatio. "Is there some version of myself that isn’t weak and cowardly? Some version that doesn’t allow itself to be used? Some version that doesn’t run away and hide? That isn’t afraid all the time? That can live happily with its best friend without—” Archie closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the sink, breathing hard.

“Archie, what on earth? What are you— Archie?” Horatio sounded bewildered, as well he might. Archie laughed, and knew it sounded hysterical. He was probably scaring the crap out of Horatio right now. He tried to pull himself together, something he had got good at, but it didn’t seem to be working this time. The life he had built here with Horatio was fragile, and he could feel it cracking around him. He jumped when he felt Horatio’s hands on his shoulders. He kept his focus on his own hands; the knuckles had turned white. “Archie, please talk to me. Please. You have to talk to me, please.” The sound of Horatio begging, so unlike him, so heartbreaking, dragged a memory from the corner of Archie’s mind where it had been hiding. ‘Please stay, Archie. Please be alright, Archie. Please don’t die, Archie’. A single sob escaped him and Horatio’s fingers tightened on his shoulders. He felt a weight settle on the back of his head and realised Horatio had rested his forehead there; he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He took a shuddering breath.

“Horatio,” he said with difficulty. “Please don’t touch me.” It wasn’t what he meant to say at all but he could hardly think straight as it was without Horatio being so close to him. He regretted the words instantly as Horatio let go and stepped away from him. Archie whirled round.

“I’m sorry, Archie. I didn’t mean to— I’m not very good at this. I wanted to comfort you but obviously I got it wrong.” Horatio looked awkward and hurt, and very far away on the other side of the kitchen. “I would never want to upset you. I’m sorry, I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have.”

“You idiot,” Archie said, half-sobbing, half-laughing. Horatio frowned. “You complete idiot. You didn’t cross any line. I just— I can’t handle you being that close to me, not right now. It’s too much. You’re too much. It’s all I want. And then what? You’re the best thing in my life and I couldn’t stand not having that. What would I do then? So you can’t touch me. Not right now. It’s too much.” The frown cleared from Horatio’s face; understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh, you get it now do you? Took you long enough. Have you really been clueless all this time? How could you not know? Or have you just been stringing me along? Did you like it? Knowing I’ve become so fucking dependent on you I’d rather live like this, looking and never touching, rather than risk losing you?”

Horatio physically recoiled at the accusation, stepping back until the wall prevented him from going further. Archie knew it was unfair trying to turn his own self-loathing onto Horatio, but the words had been said now and he couldn’t take them back. Nor could he take back the look on Horatio’s face, though he wished he could.

“Is that really what you think of me, Archie? You think I would do that? Do you really think that’s why I’m here?” Archie shook his head and buried his face in his hands. He knew perfectly well that Horatio would never do such a thing and he couldn’t believe he’d said it. He couldn’t even look at him. They had begun to be happy again and he had gone and ruined everything. The knowledge that Jack had won gnawed at him. He should have known that being dead would have done nothing to stop him.

The tears that had been threatening since he entered the kitchen could no longer be held back and soon he was crying so hard he almost didn’t notice when Horatio put his arms around him. Almost. He tried to pull away but Horatio held on and Archie didn’t really want to put up much of a fight. He didn’t know how long they stood there, Horatio’s arms wrapped tightly around Archie’s shaking shoulders, but when he pulled away the kitchen was dark and the window showed a sky burning orange and pink as the sun went down. A few tremors still shuddered his body but the worst seemed to be over. He hadn’t cried like that since he was a kid. He felt very, very embarrassed and wondered if he’d ever be able to look at Horatio again.

“Feel better?” Horatio said.

“A little,” Archie said, keeping his eyes on the large wet mark on the front of Horatio’s t-shirt.

“Good,” Horatio said. “I did the right thing then?” He sounded worried.

“What?”

“I know I hugged you after you expressly told me not to, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t exactly leave you there like that could I? I’m not a very tactile person but I know you are, so I thought it would be the best thing to do. I didn’t make things worse did I?” He sounded so anxious that Archie burst out laughing. Horatio, so good in a crisis, even an emotional crisis it seemed, was apparently at a loss now the crisis was over.

“You did the right thing, Horatio. Thank you.” He finally got the nerve to look up at Horatio and was surprised to find his eyes were blood-shot and red-rimmed. Without thinking, Archie brushed away the dampness under his eyes, frowning.

“Do you think it doesn’t hurt me to see you like this? You don’t think very much of me, do you?” Horatio said. Archie started at this. How could he say that? He thought the world of Horatio. Before he could collect his thoughts enough to respond, Horatio spoke again. “You should get some sleep, Archie. Get into bed and I’ll make some tea.” That commanding tone was back in his voice and it was easier to acquiesce than to argue. Archie went to bed and, despite thinking he couldn’t possibly sleep with his mind churning the way it was, was asleep before Horatio could even bring him his tea.

 


	5. In which the prince wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so fluffy I'm almost ashamed of myself. Almost.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Archie woke the next morning with the feeling that something terrible and wonderful had happened. After a few moments, the events of the day before came flooding back and he groaned. What the hell had been in that fruit? Had it all fermented and they just hadn’t noticed? On reflection, however, he had to admit there was nothing wrong with the fruit and the most likely explanation was that he was a complete and utter idiot. At least Horatio hadn’t run away, and now that everything was out in the open, almost everything anyway, they could deal with it and it would all be alright.

He lay in bed for a while, staring at the wall and putting off the inevitable. Unfortunately, the inevitable, by definition, can’t be put off for ever and eventually Archie had to get up. He turned over and nearly fell out of the bed in shock. Horatio, looking incredibly uncomfortable, was asleep in the chair by Archie’s bed. A cup of cold tea sat on the bedside table, skin forming on the surface. Archie thought he might cry. Again. What the hell was wrong with him? His heart ached; how many nights had Horatio spent in that chair? He had tended to him for weeks; he had stayed here for months, taking care of him and putting up with his moods. And Archie had repaid him with hysteria and accusations, casting doubt on his motives when, in the clear light of day, there could really only be one motive. Archie felt sick with shame.

He got up and dressed as quickly and quietly as he could, anxious not to wake Horatio. He wondered if perhaps he should, if only so he could sleep in a bed and not wake up stiff and sore. But Archie needed time to think so, adding another bit of guilt to the store he already had built up, he left him in the chair.

He was on his way to his usual spot in the garden when he stopped short. What was he doing hiding in the garden? All this time he’d been kidding himself, telling himself that he was doing fine, when in truth he’d just been avoiding going outside. He may have left the villa but he was still locking himself away. He’d created a nice little world for himself and Horatio and shied away from anything that might upset it. Like reality. Unfortunately, reality can’t be kept at bay, as last night had shown. He went back into the house and scribbled a quick note for Horatio: ‘Going for a walk’.

There were two paths leading away from the house. One led towards the village and the other led to cliff-tops. He had not realised they were so close to the sea until Horatio had told him. It was early and still relatively cool, so Archie set out towards the cliffs at as brisk a pace as he could manage. He was surprised how easy it was. There was some anxiety, but he had grown so used to that he barely noticed it. Mostly he felt the freedom that comes from making a decision, even a difficult decision.

For he had made a decision. He would not live in fear of Jack and what he had done to him. He had thought again last night that Jack had won but Horatio had proven him wrong. He had come to him and held him despite his own reservations. Horatio had cried for him. Horatio was his friend and Horatio loved him and Jack Simpson could put that in his pipe and, well, do whatever he wanted with it really.

He reached the cliffs sooner than he expected and stood for a long time, looking at the endless expanse of sea before him. There was a whole world out there, and he had been hiding from it for so long. He walked along the cliff-top for a while, but he was not used to so much exercise and he had not walked far before he needed to sit down and catch his breath. He thought about last night and winced at some of the things he had said. He remembered the sadness in Horatio’s face. ‘You don’t think very much of me, do you?’ He had been stunned at the time that Horatio could think such a thing but now he understood. All this time he had thought it must be obvious how he felt but what had he really done to show it? Mooning over him and occasionally forgetting how to speak when he took his top off was hardly a show of devotion on the scale of what Horatio had done. Archie had done nothing but conceal and evade and distrust.

So Archie would tell Horatio everything. He would tell him all about Jack and about how he felt and about his loneliness and his fear. He would tell him everything and hope, and trust, that Horatio would stay. And if he didn’t, well, he would survive. Probably.

A shadow fell over him; a long, lanky shadow with messy hair. He turned and smiled up at Horatio.

“Archie, for god’s sake. I’ve been worried sick.”

The smile fell from Archie’s face. “What on earth for?”

“You can’t just write a note like that and leave.” Horatio sat down on the grass beside him with a thump.

“A note like what? ‘Going for a walk’? What’s wrong with that? How did you know which way I’d gone anyway?”

“Well, I thought that if you were going to throw yourself off a cliff then walking to the village would be counter-productive.”

“Throw myself off a cliff? Did you think I was going to kill myself?” Archie started to laugh but stopped when he saw Horatio’s face. “Was I really that bad last night?”

Horatio studied Archie’s face briefly. When he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Archie, you’ve been bad for a long time. Last night was just… when it all came out, I suppose.”

“Oh,” said Archie, not knowing what else to say. They sat for a while, watching the seagulls as they swooped and darted over the water, while Archie gathered together his courage. It was all very well to decide to do something; it was harder to carry it out. “I’m sorry, Horatio,” he said at last. “I’ve been a self-absorbed little shit.” Horatio chuckled beside him but said nothing, which Archie took to be agreement. “I just couldn’t believe I was good enough for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye Archie saw Horatio turn to look at him and he forced himself to look back. “Why would you think that?” Something about the way he said it made Archie think he already knew and was prompting him rather than asking him. He found this disconcerting. Horatio had many admirable qualities but human insight was not really one of them. The thought that, of the two of them, Horatio was the one who had been the least clueless showed Archie just how off the rails he had gone. Feeling another stab of self-recrimination, he began his story. As he spoke, it became clear that Horatio had not known: he looked horrified. Archie ploughed on. It was too late to stop; he must stick it out to the end.

There was silence when he finished. Then Horatio stood and walked down the path. Archie watched him go. Horatio stopped after a few paces, turned and came back. He repeated this several times. Finally he stopped before Archie and pulled him to his feet. He tilted his chin up and studied his face. “This is really true,” he said.

“Of course it’s true,” Archie said pulling his head back. “You think I would make something like this up?”

“Of course not. Sorry. Of course not.” He resumed his pacing. It’s just— It’s unbelievable. That he would do that to you. I knew he was a nasty piece of work, I knew there was something—”. He stopped again in front of Archie. “Was this going on while I was working there?”

“It was less after you arrived, but, sometimes, yes.”

“God, Archie, I am so sorry. I should have known there was something wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Still, I should have known. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Archie took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to hate me for it.”

“You really don’t think very much of me do you?” Horatio said with a sad smile. “Do you really think I’d hate you for what someone else did to you?”

“I thought you might hate me for being weak and a coward. And for running away.”

“You’re the bravest person I know, Archie. I could never have gone through all that alone. I would have slit my wrists or thrown myself under a train ages ago.” Archie thought about this. It was an angle he had not considered before. An angry shout from Horatio made him jump. “God, how dare he. How dare he do this to you? How dare he think he’s good enough to even lay a finger on you, let alone—”. He began pacing again. Archie, exhaustion getting the better of him, collapsed back onto his spot on the ground and watched as Horatio stalked around the cliff-top, swearing and kicking at stones. At one point he hit a tree-trunk with the side of his fist, which looked like it must have hurt. Alarming as this sudden outburst was, Horatio’s indignation on his behalf was heart-warming. Not to mention the fact that he was still here.

After a while Horatio’s anger wore itself out and he resumed his place beside Archie. “Feel better?” Archie said with a grin.

“A little,” Horatio said. “Except not really. I’ve never been so angry in my life. I never thought I’d be glad a person was dead, but I’m glad Jack Simpson’s dead. The only reason I might wish him back would be so I could kill him myself. Never thought I’d say that.” He looked thoughtful. “I should probably feel bad about it. But I don’t.”

“I don’t either, and I’ve had a lot longer to think about it than you have. So don’t worry about it.” Archie steeled himself. The hard part was over and it had been fine. He could do this, no problem. He was 97% certain he wasn’t going to be rejected. So why was his stomach tied in knots? He took hold of Horatio’s hand. Horatio looked at where their fingers were entwined as if he’d never seen them before. “I know I’ve been a complete arse,” he began, “and I thought it was obvious, and maybe it was to others. I mean, I’m pretty sure Clayton knew, and probably Hether and Cleveland. But maybe it wasn’t to you and I thought, you know, maybe I should tell you.” Horatio looked baffled at this rambling pronouncement. He should just say it. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you since you first walked into that bloody shop, and well, there it is. I love you and I’m pretty sure you love me and I know I’m a nightmare and an idiot and I really don’t deserve you at all but I’m kind of hoping you’ll be willing to overlook all that.”

“You’re pretty sure I love you?” Horatio said, which was not quite what Archie had wanted to hear, but Horatio hadn’t looked disgusted and he still had hold of his hand so Archie didn’t mind too much. “How?”

“Well, I was stupid about it at first. I’ve been so absorbed in worrying about what you would think of me and assuming you would hate me that I missed it. But you left your home to come and find me and then you stayed to look after me when you didn’t need to. Last night made it pretty obvious, though I didn’t cotton on until this morning when I realised you’d spent the whole night in that chair. And I’ve been remembering bits and pieces from when I was ill. Nothing you could put your finger on but… you get so intense and I thought it was just the way you are, and maybe it is, but sometimes— what are you laughing at?”

“I’m sorry. I’m laughing at myself. You’re not the only idiot.” He placed his free hand tentatively on top of Archie’s. “I know I’m what Hether so tactfully calls ‘pretty dense’ about some things. Would you believe it was only yesterday that I realised how I felt?”

Archie laughed, unable to believe it. And yet, it was Horatio through and through. “Actually, yes I would.”

“I didn’t understand why I was so devastated when you left. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Nothing was the same. I kept turning to tell you things and I’d find you weren’t there. I felt like, oh I don’t know, words are your thing not mine. It felt like I’d been cut adrift. Like I said, I didn’t really know why. I didn’t even think to question it. It’s the natural reaction isn’t it? What other response could there be to you not being there?” He paused and looked away, biting his lip. Archie mentally urged him to continue.“I’m not the same without you, Archie. I need you to laugh at me and make me not take myself so seriously and to, to just be you. And be there. I didn’t think it needed a name. Maybe it doesn’t.”Archie didn’t dare move. He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined he would hear Horatio say something like this. “Anyway, I found you and you were, God, you were so ill. I’ve never been so scared. I thought even if you lived you’d be out of your mind forever. I didn’t think you’d ever be yourself again. You slowly got better though, and I began to hope I’d get my friend back. You weren’t doing as well as you seemed to think you were, but you were getting there. And then last night you went and scared the hell out of me.”

Archie winced. “I thought I had. Sorry about that.”

Horatio waved a hand at him and shook his head. “It was probably a good thing. Catalina said it wasn’t good for you to bottle everything up. She said I should get you to talk about it ‘cause it would all come out eventually anyway and the longer it took the worse it would be.”

“Oh, she did, did she? Well maybe Catalina should just mind her own business.”

“Archie,” said Horatio, shocked. “That’s completely unfair. If she’d minded her own business you’d probably have starved to death before I even got here. Besides, she was right.” Archie had to admit Horatio had a point on both counts. “It was what you said last night that made me realise. What you said about not being able to be too close, about it being too much.” Horatio looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. Archie waited for him to look up again; it seemed like an eternity before he did so. “I don’t know how to say it. Archie, when I’m with you, when I’m close to you, it’s like, it feels like—” he was interrupted by Archie leaning forward, as he had wanted to do countless times before, and kissing him.

It was not the most elegant of kisses. Neither of them was very experienced and they were both nervous and one of them at least was taken by surprise. But it was everything Archie had ever wanted it to be. It was Horatio.

It ended with Horatio overbalancing and Archie sprawling on top of him. “Does it feel like that?” Archie said, laughing.

“Yeah, a bit like that,” Horatio said. He seemed to have had the wind knocked out of him. Archie rolled off him reluctantly.

“Sorry. Are you alright?”

“Alright? I’ve never been so alright. I don’t think anyone’s ever been so alright,” Horatio said with a grin. Archie pulled him upright and they sat and watched the seagulls as they had earlier. This time, though, Horatio had his arm around Archie and Archie leaned his head against Horatio’s shoulder.

“You really love me then?” Horatio said after a while. Archie lifted his head and looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.”

Archie laughed. “That’s all you’ve got to say on the matter?”

“Well, it’s just, the way I feel about you. It’s so…” Horatio waved his hands in front of him in a gesture that seemed to indicate something very big. And possibly swirly, Archie wasn’t sure. “It’s hard to imagine anyone feeling that way about me. It’ll take some getting used to that’s all.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it, because you’re stuck with me.”

“I can live with that,” Horatio said, kissing him. Archie sank into the kiss, slow and thorough. Horatio pulled back and smiled at him. Then something seemed to occur to him. “Um, Archie?”

“Mmmm?”

“When we get back to the villa, do you think maybe you ought to ring your parents?”

“Oh, bugger,” Archie said.

*****

And they all lived happily ever after. Except for Jack Simpson, obviously, because he was dead. And Hether, who lost all his frilly shirts in a mysterious house fire.

 

 


End file.
